


Redox Reactions

by TheSoundOfHerWings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anal Sex, Just some hot consensual teacher/student porn, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Teacher -Student Relationship, Teacher!Sherlock, Teacher/Student Dynamics, Teacherlock, bottom!John, student!John, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoundOfHerWings/pseuds/TheSoundOfHerWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"But now, with John splayed out across the mahogany desk, the slick lubricant practically sliding down his legs onto the files that Sherlock had to grade later, he was nothing more than the studious, quiet boy that had sat in his Chemistry class all year. Sherlock loved the thought, cherished it and consumed it, that he would have to hand back equations tomorrow practically dripping with he and John’s come. Devoured the thought that his idiotic students would bring the papers home for their parents to hold, and all the while, Sherlock had desecrated John on top of them. He’d brought him to pieces underneath him."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Just some super-duper consensual teacher/student sex because that's rad. *thumbs up*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redox Reactions

Sherlock grunted as he stroked himself, dragging his lips over the scruff that John never bothered to shave when he didn’t have dates for a few days. It was quite nice in the way that it scratched against his plump lips. John didn’t usually make much noise, he wasn’t one for unnecessary verbal ejaculations, but like this - with Sherlock’s cock placed just at his entrance with no pressure behind it - he was falling apart and it was maddening. The slow slide of his cock into John was enhanced by the muscle tightening around his erection as Sherlock threw his head back.

“F-fuck," John muttered, gripping the sheets. “Jesus fucking Christ." With a smirk, Sherlock rocked back and forth, refusing to give him much until he begged. Twice.

"Oh come now." Sherlock’s smile was absolutely predatory. “We finally get to shag and you’re thinking about the Holy Son. How drab."

The look John threw at the man above him would be enough to kill. With a little training and conditioning while in service, he’d be absolutely terrifying, Sherlock thought to himself. But now, with John splayed out across the mahogany desk, the slick lubricant practically sliding down his legs onto the files that Sherlock had to grade later, he was nothing more than the studious, quiet boy that had sat in his Chemistry class all year. Sherlock loved the thought, cherished it and consumed it, that he would have to hand back equations tomorrow practically dripping with he and John’s come. Devoured the thought that his idiotic students would bring the papers home for their parents to hold, and all the while, Sherlock had desecrated John on top of them. He’d brought him to pieces underneath him. John tried to touch himself. His stout fingers wrapped around his cock, pulling upward but with a growl, Sherlock pinned both of the younger boy’s hands to the wood. “No," he snarled, accentuating the word with a sharp thrust that made a cry spill out of John’s lips. “Not until I tell you to. Not yet, do you hear me?"

Sherlock had never heard a whine so brilliant. It was low, and guttural, and high and whiny. John was neither a boy nor a man, but in that moment, the thirty-seven-year old thrusting slowly into him, he was both. His body was that of a man underneath Sherlock, his quivering thighs barely supporting his weight as he lay backward across the desk, but to Sherlock, he was a boy. He was the epitome of sweet, innocent, and ripe. John’s stomach rippled every time he tensed, every time Sherlock long, thin cock slid all the way to the hilt, buried within his naivete. With every thrust, John’s cock was practically weeping in frustration. Sherlock had kept him like this for almost two hours. He’d slowly slid his slick fingers across every erogenous zone that John’s skin contained. He’d worked at crawling into him until all five of John’s senses were filled simply with the professor. He neither remember who he was or what he wanted save for the fact that he belonged to Sherlock Holmes and needed Sherlock Holmes. John had been erect for 114 minutes, to Sherlock’s count. Perhaps it was time for him to have a small amount of mercy on the young boy.

He sped up his thrusts. John keened, his fingers digging into the tops of Sherlock’s hands where they held him. The camouflage trousers kept him from spreading his legs too far. The only spreading John Hamish Watson would get would be by Sherlock himself. Sherlock could hear the desk rocking on it’s hinges with every deep thrust. One small adjustment would angle his arse so that - there, ah. 

“FuckfuckfuckshitfuckinghellnobloodyhellohmyfuckingChristSherlock,” John spewed as Sherlock found his prostate. With a smirk, he stayed buried within him, short, sharp snaps bringing his head into John’s prostate in rapid succession. John was begging - mewling like a newborn kitten under him that was tasting milk for the first time.

“Ah, ah,” the professor scolded. He switched John’s hands to just one of his own, and tapped his cheek in a light slap. “I believe I specifically did give you rules on what to call me. What were they?” As a punishment, Sherlock let his cock slip out of John, his entrance gaping at the sudden absence, trying desperately to find something to grip onto. 

“Mr. Holmes and - and - and sir,” John huffed out, growling in his throat. “Please, sir. Sir, you said. You said,” John mumbled. When his knees gave out, which Sherlock eventually knew would happen, his weight was supported only by the hands holding him up and the leg Sherlock had placed in between John’s. He took pity on the boy, slipping into him again.

It was only teasing at first, seeing how far his own control could hold out. He’d pried John open for him, laid him across the table and given him an ultimatum. He could walk right out of there, then, or he could learn what it felt like to be absolutely owned by someone - taken and owned. Branded. Of course, John has chosen this and, basing his deduction on the red state of John’s entire body as he panted with desire, his gaze filled with lust and submission, Sherlock could tell he was glad that he’d chosen this. But finally his control cracked and Sherlock wrapped his own long fingers around John’s cock, twisting his wrist as he pumped him. He snapped over, and over, and over again into John. He needed more than anything at this specific moment to spill into the boy he’d marked as his own. It didn’t take long. Both of them, only seconds later, were grunting into the silent and stiff air of Sherlock’s classroom, spilling into and all over each other.

 

After a long moment, Sherlock lifted his head off of John’s shoulder - where it had supposedly fallen during the brightest moment of orgasmic bliss he’d ever experienced. His fingers slipped off of John’s softening cock, causing the younger boy to grimace and cringe at the sensitivity.

“Hush,” Sherlock cooed. He took a moment to swipe his fingers across John’s swollen and red lips and pressed his own down for their first kiss. John tasted strangely like a mixture of salt and vanilla. Something that Sherlock should have expected, but didn’t. It came as an utter surprise to him. Perhaps it showed on his face, because John chuckled underneath him and let his head fall back to the desk to catch his breath.

“Like that, did you?” he mumbled back with a smirk, pushing gently at Sherlock’s chest. “Alright, alright, you can get off now.” Sherlock sniffed and shot him a look, but groaned himself as he slipped out of John. It sent spikes of pain and pleasure mixed up to his stomach - something that had him almost reeling enough to go again. But no, he’d wait it out. He’d give John time to recharge. Next time, he’d bring him up and up and up again, over the tops of a millions crests, ebbing down only to have him groan with sensitivity as he coaxed him back up again. Next time, Sherlock promised himself and John with a kiss to John’s hipbone. He bent down and swiped his tongue along the inside of John’s thigh, humming with approval at the taste of himself, and then proceeded to pull John’s pants and trousers up. He dressed him quickly - John propped up tiredly on his desk, sitting down, and Sherlock working in front of him to make him presentable. “I coulda done that, y’know,” John yawned, scratching the hair that Sherlock had just smoothed. The older man glared at the blond locks. He ‘hmphed’ in response, which earned a warm smile from the small boy. Yes, he thought this arrangement would work out nicely.


End file.
